Diaries of a Demigod
by Lilith Blackmoon
Summary: I'm the daughter of Loki. Feared by many, loved by none. I just want to be something good, but I have something inside of me that just lusts to be bad. I want to stop that. I want to be good. This is my life. Follow my journey, and see where it takes me, because it'll be a long, and interesting ride. I want to be a hero. And I won't stop until I'm no longer the villain.
1. First Journal entry

There was a girl who was never born to 'fit in'. She never wanted to hate, or be hated. No one gave her a second glance because they were too afraid, but all she wanted was for them to finally say 'hello'. This girl is more afraid of _herself_ than people are of her, maybe. She grows and learns with the abuse of those who claim to love her, but only take the money from the state to buy more and more booze. She gets a little tougher everyday, but also just loses more and more hope. Society decided for her, that she was a monster, that she was destined to be a criminal, a _villain_. Everyone decided for her, that she couldn't be a hero. She is determined to prove them wrong.

My name is Lilith Lokidottir. And this is my story.

* * *

Date: June 3, 2006.

It's my birthday, today. I'm finally 15 and it still makes no difference. I woke up with two more bruises; one on my chin and the other on my shoulder. The foster parents were drinking again, and, like always, I was too afraid to use my powers to try and stop them. I'm so incredibly weak, I'm honestly doubting the fact my asshole of a father is the God, Loki. My courage can be measured that of a teaspoon, compared to any _god. _I'm no _goddess. _I'm just a girl. At least, that's who I want to be.

It's Wednesday, and school is almost over. I've got one more week, and finals for the next couple days. Great. Just wonderful. I start the day by covering up the bruise on my chin with a _lot _of makeup, then easily hide my other with my shirt.

I'll admit one thing, as hard as life is, I always keep my grades at all A's. I like my 4.0 GPA, and I'll keep it that way. It'll help with college, if I can't do the one thing I'd really love. I just want to help people, prove to the world I am nothing to fear, and instead someone to _trust. _And if getting good grades will help me, then so be it.

My foster parents were still asleep, hungover from the night's drinking binge. Okay, with me. Means I wouldn't have to deal with them this morning and can get myself a poptart without someone telling me the list of chores I have waiting when I get home. I could easily shut them up, if I just let go and allowed myself to use my powers freely. I'm too damn afraid. I don't want to kill anyone and it's my ultimate fear. I'm really just afraid of myself. I'm nothing like my father, and I just want the world to see that. But no one will take the word of the girl who is the daughter of the _God Of Lies. _Here's the funny thing, though. I can't lie. Well, technically I can't lie. I'm cursed to be a terrible liar, to the point that _everyone _can tell if I am lying. But, there is a good side to this. No matter how good of a liar someone _else_ is, I'll always know if they are lying. So, I just stick to telling the truth, and enjoy pointing out other's lies. But, it's the down and upside to being a demigod.

Getting through the school day is hard enough. I have to deal with people making large paths in the hallway whenever I walk by, others calling me a 'freak' or things of the nature just to get under my skin. And honestly, it works. Today I slammed two boys into the lockers, and they looked so horrified... all they could say was "What _are_ you?". I just blinked at them. It's like they might as well have really seen a true monster. Later on, I heard them conversing about how my eyes changed. Desperate to hear what they meant, I got closer, but they noticed me and shut right up. And stared. They couldn't stop this disgusting _stare _that they held on me. It made me feel like the entire world was suddenly judging me, and I couldn't breath.

I broke down into tears, after that in the bathroom. Some girl heard me crying and offered her aid, but once she actually saw my face, she began to stutter and get nervous. Then chose to use the bell as an excuse to leave me alone and go to class. Which is upsetting, because I really did want her help.

School ended and I started to get this weird twitchy feeling in my palms. Like they were aching to do something, move, anything! That's when I saw the crumpled penny on the ground. That's right. _Crumbled. _Like a piece of paper. I picked it up, and began to just...play with it. Before I knew it, I was hovering it in my hand, bending and shaping it to my will. And I found myself _smiling._ It felt good to use my powers, without fear.

When I finally returned home, I climbed through my bedroom window upstairs so no one would hear me come in. Technically, it isn't a bedroom. It's an attic, but I suited it for myself because I find the concealment oddly comforting when I want to be alone. When I'd got inside, I didn't hesitate to start looking for metals around my room. I needed to be sure, to practice, what it was I am able to do now.

I just was experimenting. Really, I was. I found some jewelry the foster parents kept in a box, and without regret, managed to form it all into a sword. I'll admit, I marveled at it for possibly ten minutes before my foster dad, Hugh, stormed in. He was drunk. Again. And utterly confused with the object in my hand. He took it, waving it around once he decided it was a sword. I wanted to stop him, but another part of me just said to sit still, and watch. Just watch.

And that's when he fell. Out my window and to the ground. I blinked once. Twice. And it took all my courage to look outside to see the dead man on the concrete. He snapped his neck on impact to the ground. Instant death. No pain at all. Part of me ached and wanted to cry, but instead a sadistic smile curled over my lips and I felt disgusted and pleased all at once. I hate it. Hate it with a passion.

I knew I couldn't stay. They'd send someone after me, and I'd be locked up. So I ran. I packed up whatever I found necessary and ran. The oddest thing is that I was sobbing, yet keeping that sadistic grin the entire time. It still makes my blood boil knowing that I was pleased I caused his death. I didn't want this. And now it's happened.

I'm currently sitting in an abandoned hotel while some guy outside continues rambing at me. He says he's from 'S.H.I.E.L.D.' I don't even know what that is, but he said he can help me. And he's...sort of lying. Like he wants to believe it, but is unsure. I can't trust it. Not one bit. So I'll just keep moving. They can try to kill me, and it would be a blessing. But whatever happens, I'm just hoping the cash I managed to steal from the foster parents will be enough. I need to lay low, buy some tiny apartment and finish school. I'll find a way...I know I will.

I don't know why I'm writing all this down. The guy outside has been rambling for an hour, and I haven't moved an inch. I guess I just want someone to know my story. Know the truth. But I think I'm giving up. What's the point in hiding anymore? Trying to run away when there is nothing left for me?

That's it. I'm going. I'll let this "S.H.I.E.L.D." take me. I don't know what will happen or if anyone will read this. But maybe this is the end.

I almost wish it is.


	2. Journal Entry 2

Date: June 5, 2006

So, the good news is, they didn't kill me. The bad news is, they knocked me out for an entire day and locked me up in some room. Everything is white, and they've got me dressed in white clothes, too. The thought of someone stripping me bare to put new clothes on me is making me want to puke.

I've only been awake for a good eight hours and I feel exhausted. The guy who was yelling at me from outside the hotel came striding in with such confidence. He didn't even flinch when I walked toward him, nor when I placed my hand on his shoulder did he even wince. But he was suddenly confused when I started to cry. No one has been so calm around me, trusting of me to even come within five feet of them. He was even more confused when I hugged him. Hell, I was even confused as to why I did, but still. He even hugged me back with only a moment's hesitation. I forgot how it felt to be held, since no one had in..._years._ I started to cry hard and he just hugged me tighter. He just let me cry, right there, in his arms.

I've got no clue how long I just there, just holding him. But once I had finally gotten myself under control, he handed me a tissue and gave me the warmest smile. I found myself smiling back, a sweet and gentle smile at that. He had me sit down, and told me his name was 'Phil Coulson'. The whole time, he just smiled or kept a straight face.

But, we made a deal. They let me go, and I don't cause trouble. They'll set me right on my feet, and I can continue school without them bothering me. I agreed, and I'm currently waiting for my clothes and money that they confiscated from me. Actually, scratch that. They're taking the money back to my previous foster mom because it's "the right thing". But instead is giving me a place to stay and cash to go with it. I already warned them, that once school is out and I have found a new place somewhere else, I'm gone. I can't stay here, wherever _here_ is. Honestly, I don't think I'm in Nevada anymore. Not that I can tell, I'm pretty sure I'm a hundred feet underground, at the moment.

I have guards outside my room, and it makes me feel dangerous. It's just..._weird. _I'm not a criminal. I didn't kill Hugh, but technically I also did. The guilt is eating at me from the inside out. My face feels hot, and I can't seem to eat the food they've given me, no matter how good that damn steak looks right now. I just keep gagging every time.

I can't stop thinking about my smile. I mean, the one I wore when Hugh fell out the window. It still makes me shudder at myself. The fact I found it pleasurable to see him dead on the ground made me feel so dirty and wrong.

But, I thought up a poem, today. Once Phil actually took a moment to hand me my journal, I cracked it open immediately. The binding had been stressed, which means it's been pressed down onto a copying machine. Typical. I really expected that, considering I did write about the development of my metal abilities.

Anyway, here's the poem. Enjoy.

_I sit in the white washed room_

_with only my thoughts_

_My blood churns and boils _

_at every image in my head_

_I can't take this guilt_

_This feeling of pleasure and dread._

_When did the voices start to speak in my head._

_Make it go away_

_Make it all stop_

_I'm not a monster_

_I'm just a girl who was caught_

_Red hands, bloodied with a smirk_

_While my eyes held fire and churned and burned. _

_They've got me, now what?_

_Do they think death is what I fear?_

_Death is what I crave._

_To feel._

_To taste._

_And yet I am too coward it let death take my place._

_Let someone have their revenge._

_Let them take my life._

_At least they can live on._

_And I could finally die._

I know, it's a bit morbid. But, hell. It's the truth. It's the only way I know how to put the thoughts in my head onto paper. The only true way, that is. I wish I had more to write for you, more to say. But...I just can't find my words right now. I think I'll rest, until Phil comes back to send me off back home.

Is it bad I don't want him to go? That I just want him to stay and take care of me? It's all I want. Just someone who seems to actually care about my thoughts and feelings. Because I'm pretty sure I haven't been hugged since I was eight years old.


	3. Journal entry 3

Date: June 6, 2006

Wow. Woke up with such a huge headrush and still in this white room with these white clothes. I just want my jeans and t-shirt back, because those were comfortable.

Apparently, I had to stay longer for evaluation to see if I'm "safe". To hell with that, I need to go to school! I want to finish out this school year with my 4.0 intact! But noooo I'm stuck here still. What do they want with me?

I've taken to writing more poems again and now they all just sound the same. I need a new muse but that's hard when you're locked up.

Coulson came and sat down with me to make sure I ate my food this time. A simple plate of eggs, a biscuit, and some bacon. It looked so good, especially with that toast and orange juice, but suddenly a million times better with Phil there to chat with. I actually ate it, all of it, even. I mentioned how I would be behind in my school work, and he didn't seem to care for more than a split second. He'd frowned then shook it off. Then, had the nerve to ask me "What does someone like you have to worry about school for?" Excuse me? Have you _seen _this economy? I just shrugged at him and went "Everyone needs a job, Phil. The better grades I have, the better scholarships, and the better college. I might be a freak, but I'll be a freak with a future." He just sort of stared at me after that, went silent for a really long time before replying "You're not a freak. You're just...special." Yeah, sure, okay.

I think I went back to sleep after that, because I lost track of a good three hours. It's late again, and I'm still locked in this room. At least they finally gave me my clothes back. Washed and dried, even. Well, I had the decency to thank them for that. Clean underwear is a must, after all.


	4. Journal entry 4

Date: June 15, 2006

Wow. It's been a few days since I wrote anything, especially since all that shit went down with S.H.I.E.L.D. but here I am again. Just a pencil and journal.

They set me up in a small apartment close to the school. I'm only 15 but right now, it feels more like 30. I don't have to pay the bills, but living on my own like this is...new. And I actually like it. I feel so independent and just...great. It's hard to explain, because I'm not exactly free, but it feels like for once in my life I'm allowed to decide my own fate. I'll have S.H.I.E.L.D. on my tail for the rest of my life but that can't be so bad. Maybe one day, I can be an agent. Do something good for the world instead of something bad.

School ended, and I passed with my 4.0 just barely intact. I turned in a quick little report on the topic we just discussed in each class and managed to use it as extra credit. And trust me, I'm extremely thankful I could do it.

But I have a serious problem. S.H.I.E.L.D. lied. They told me no one would know about my foster dad dying due to me. And yet, I go to school and everyone is more afraid of me than usual. I saw my locker had "MURDERER" written in all big letters in Sharpie. People mumbling about me wherever I was. I'm started to almost wish the rumors about me were true. That I'm a heartless bitch that does all these terrible things. Because maybe if I was as heartless and cruel as they make me out to be, I wouldn't feel so terrible about a dumb lie. I want it to all just end. And recently, putting a gun to my head seems like a really good plan. Because this will never end. They will never see the good I am wishing to have and show.

I didn't kill him. I just chose not to save him.


	5. Journal Entry 5

July 16, 2006

It's been a good month since school has ended, and it feels almost worst than being in school. I'm on my own now, on my way to a little city in California to start school again, there. Tenth grade. They say it's the hardest year of high school, and I'm not even fretting it. I've got a 4.0 GPA following my trail, so no worries there.

But, I was thinking today. A little more than usual, and I guess that's odd of me, but I can't be sure to judge myself. S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to be looking at me for the rest of my life. What if I worked for them? Started using what I can do for good, to help people? I can't exactly get a hold of them, currently. It's not like I have their phone number at all and can just call and chat up a conversation.

They'll come for me again, I'm sure. One day I'll mess up again and will be crying for help. I'm weak. I'm a coward. And I know, they'll have to take me in again.


	6. Journal Entry 6

WARNING: TRIGGERING CONTENT

September 29, 2008

Wow. I haven't written in this old journal for a while. Guess it's because I haven't had the motivation to... I've been busy the past couple years with school. The district I'm in-or was in, at least- wanted me to skip a couple grades, but I refused. School lets me think about something else when my mind is a blur over something about myself I'm scared of.

Well, I guess you're wondering what could possibly motivate me to write in this after two years, right? Well, I've caused some trouble for myself again and..well, it's really bad this time. If someone is reading this, you can probably see the tear stains from my crying. But. Here goes:

I was just walking home from school (well, it's a small ass apartment I can afford with McDonald's salary) and a few guys from school who had the hots for me, decided to try and get exactly what they wanted. I was pinned against a brick wall in the alley way, four teenagers surrounding me. I panicked when on began pulling down my skirt and the others began to fondle me and force me to the ground where they managed to get my skirt completely off. I didn't know what I had done until I saw one of them on the ground, head bashed in and blood all over me and just everywhere. I blacked out prior, I must've raged out or something...some sort of newfound defense mechanism. That doesn't make it okay.

While the other guys ran away, I just fell to the ground and sobbed my weak heart out, fumbling to dial the number I was given to contact S.H.I.E.L.D. (Phil gave me his number when they checked up on me a couple days ago) before anyone had the chance to call the police.

I sat there, crouched over the body of the boy trying to work with healing abilities I've been working on, tears mixing with blood, hands drenched in his blood as I sat there and just...tried so hard to take it back. That was when I felt the pain of two stab marks in my side and abdomen. The other must've tried to stop me by pulling the knives...

It wasn't until I felt two firm hands grip my shoulders that I finally stopped trying to take back the horrible mistake. It was Coulson. He pulled me back, sat on the ground and pulled me close to him into a tight grip so I could calm down and cool off. Apparently, my body felt like it was enflamed while my hands were at work with healing. But, Coulson held me so close and tight, it didn't feel like I was being constricted, it felt like I was being _protected. _

He cooed and hushed me many times, trying to calm the wracking sobs. It was short lived, though, as he soon hoisted me to my feet, gripping my arms, and lead me to the familiar black van.

Soon after, they sent me into the showers to get cleaned up and then proceeded to tend my wounds and send me through quite a few tests. They needed to make sure I was stable, I guess. Once that was over, Coulson handed me some black pajamas (a long sleeve shirt and pants, both very much like silk).

I don't know how long we talked about what happened. Or how many times I could've swore I saw a pain in his eyes whenever I'd begun to tear up again. He'd just sit there and hold me, his chin on my head whilst rocking me gently to try and calm the sobs once again.

I killed someone.

It wasn't some accident caused by alcohol (even though tests would later prove the teens were indeed drinking prior to the event), it wasn't an accident that I just _happened_ to be involved in. This wasn't like my foster dad. This time...I actually killed someone. With my bare hands.

But the worst part is...I don't even remember doing it. And I couldn't take it back.

I don't know how long they will want to keep me here. I might be going to jail for this...but for now, I'm sitting in a glass box. And this black guy with an eye patch and trench coat has been looking at me from outside for the past fifteen minutes. What is he, a damn pirate? He looks like something out of "The Matrix".


	7. Jounal Entry 7

September 30, 2008

A lot went down yesterday and I can't stop thinking about it. I killed someone. My only defense is that he and his friends were trying to...well, you know. That, and I don't even remember doing it. The sick part is, a part of me wants to smile at the image of the busted skull, at my work of bloody art. I cringe at myself. I talked to Coulson about these feelings and he didn't know how to respond.

I'm scared. He told me that S.H.I.E.L.D. and the CIA are going to put me on trial. Not only that, but it's being filmed on TV. Phil (he's letting me call him that when no one is around) told me S.H.I.E.L.D. tried everything to keep them from deciding that, but CIA is allowing the press to film and do a story on it. I'll be all over national television. And in two days, everyone in the world will see me for what I've done. Phil said that there are just some things S.H.I.E.L.D. can't control.

I guess I'm one of those things, too


	8. Journal Entry 8

October 5, 2008

They keep pushing off the date for my trial, which only makes me more on edge and twitchy. It's because S.H.I.E.L.D. is ruling me "unstable" and "emotionally incapable of handling the stress of trial". Which, they aren't wrong about. Plus, I think it gives them more time to try and talk the press out of live television. Accept, only more news reporters and stations have caught onto the news, and even more will be filming now.

While all that is going on, they keep putting me in a room with a complete stranger each time. I keep freaking out and going ballistic. They keep saying things about how I'm prone to wrong doing, or asking me about my biological make-up; considering they know nothing of the alien species I am. Hell, they barely believe my father could be Loki. All I know is that I have high amounts of energy, pure destructive energy that they can't even give a scientific name to.

I keep passing out once I feel myself getting angry during a session. Last thing I see is the horrified look on the stranger's face before everything goes black. I wake up with a small amount of blood on my left hand (did I mention I'm left handed? You can probably tell from my writing style) and a pounding headache. I'm in my bed, back in the white, glass room. How many more people are they going to send to me, only to get their noses broken?

Phil is kinda acting like a dad now, and it's kinda freaking me out. Not that I will tell him that, It's nice to have someone who's caring about me like that right now. But he keeps checking in on me every fifteen minutes, keeps bringing me a new book every other day (I finish books really quick). On top of that, ever since I told him how I was having nightmares about killing that boy...he's been sitting on the side of my bed, holding my hand until I fall asleep. And he stays. I wake up screaming and/or crying and there he is, pulling my into his arms and calming me down until I can sleep again. Now, some people might find that a little creepy for him to be like that, but you can just see it in those eyes...he actually cares. As weird as it is to say it, killing someone might be the best thing to happen to me.


	9. Journal Entry 9

October 7, 2008

Something is so wrong, now. I went through my usual routine of breaking another therapist's nose, reading the rest of a book, doing school work assigned from school, playing poker with Phil and a guard, then finally settling down and sleeping for the night. Normal day.

Phil stayed at my bedside as usual in case of a nightmare. But...tonight it was different.

(Let's just note that Phil is sitting next to me on my bed, watching me write. He thinks my handwriting is pretty aw. And we both just laughed because he is reading this as I write.)

In my dream, I was a servant girl in old medieval times. There was a village full of cottages and such, and I was getting a bucket of water. That's when there was a fire. it spread so quickly throughout the village, everyone just started running and screaming. I somehow lost my bucket in all of this. I tried to help people but they only replied "Don't touch me, you filthy servant!" They were the more rich people of the village, and quite rude obviously. That's when a beam that was caught on fire fell, pinning me to the ground and scorching me alive. But...that's when I saw them. I saw Phil, and the boy I killed getting engulfed in flames, crying out for me to help them and I couldn't do a thing...I watched them die while I myself was burnt alive. I woke up and of course was immediately lifted into Phil's arms, but I only cried out in pain.

I have _burns_ all over me. Big, third degree burns all over my back, legs, neck, head and arms. They've been tended to now, but they still hurt. The weirdest part is they are healing rapidly. Seriously. They should be gone in a day or two at this rate.

Phil said they want to submit me to some tests tomorrow to try and see how that happens due to a dream...they won't find out. It's a curse, and I know it. It is because I killed that boy...and I bet it was showing the next person I'd hurt. I can't save them...I'll end up hurting them instead.

I don't want to hurt Phil. I've come to love him like family and I just...I literally wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him. There are some things I won't dare to write in this in fear of judgement of whomever reads this...but Phil has saved me from myself twice already since I've been here. If I hurt him...I don't know what I would do.


	10. Journal Entry 10

October 11, 2008

S.H.I.E.L.D. has the decency to get my school work and bring it to me, at least. Phil will sit down and work with me on it, even though I don't really need the help. It's still nice to have him around to talk to. We've gotten so close lately, apparently his boss is concerned with how much time we spend together. So Phil can't be around as much as he is anymore...and it really blows, because I really need him.

I took up writing more poems now. I show some to Phil and he likes then a lot. He thinks I could be a writer one day if I really tried. I could I guess, but I don't know what I would write about.

Anyway I'm thinking about another poem so I'll just write it here.

_As the days draw shorter_

_And the nights waver longer_

_The nightmares increase _

_And my demons become a disease_

_I'm sick with the pain of others_

_Hurt with the ache of my heart_

_Worrisome of the darkness that subsides in my dreams._

_What does it mean?_

_What can it be?_

_Does this mean I will never be free_

_Of the terror that I hold inside of me?_


	11. Journal Entry 11

October 12, 2008

Today was the trial. And wow what a mix of emotions. I've only gotten myself into more trouble...

I sat at my table next to Phil, since he acted as my attorney. My hands were cuffed together, with a special set of cuffs S.H.I.E.L.D., had in front of me, but they had allowed me to dress in normal clothes, so I wore a simple blue dress. I stayed quiet while Phil and the other attorney argued it out:

"She cannot account for her own actions! She doesn't even remember doing the deed," Phil argued with a sassy hand on his hip.

"How _convenient _that she doesn't remember! That _thing _is not human and is a danger to society! She claims to be the spawn of a mischievous god, but for all we know she could be insane and gifted with mutant powers! We all know how dangerous these mutants can be!" The other argued back.

What he said had obviously made Phil quite angry, but he had to bottle it up just as I did at the same time. But I couldn't sit by and let him say that. Before I knew it words spewed from my lips:

"You don't know _anything _about me! I know who my father is! I'm not a monster!" As I choked out the last words, the judge banged his gavel and ordered I sit down and shut up. Phil helped me relax and soon I was able to shoot the other an icy glare.

Then, Phil continued:

"We've run the tests. Her DNA does not match that of a mutant in any way, accept those that derive from the human genes. And she has told us of an incident that she recalls of meeting her father when she was young and can share that information with us today!"

They then told me to step up to the the witness stand, and I did so. I sat and held my hands in my lap.

"Please state the interaction you have had with 'Loki', also claimed as your father." The Judge said.

I took a deep breath and began, "I was about four or five when I was made to go see a doctor by the name of . His last name started with an R, but I forgot. He said I was special, that I was from the same place he was. And so was my father. When the doctor left the room, leaving me alone, he appeared. He wore green and stated who he was and how he was my father. But when I asked if I could go home with him, he said 'No. Your blood is impure, and a disgrace. I've seen what you will be. And you will be so very weak.' I was so little I didn't understand and when I had begun to cry, he scoffed and pushed me away when I drew near. He then disappeared and I have not seen or heard of him since." I said it all flat and without any emotion. It doesn't bother me to talk about it, surprisingly.

"And of this doctor?" The opposing attorney asked, stepping towards me with his hands folded behind his back.

"He showed me that I had powers. It was just little things with snowflakes at first. But then he stopped practicing with me that day when he saw something rather odd happen to my eyes. He refused to let me come back for another session. I haven't seen or heard from him since either." I said in a confident tone. Though, no one in the room seemed to believe me.

They had me step down from the stand, and I seated myself back next to Phil. The Court Clerk then pulled out enlarged photos of the crime scene and displayed them. I immediately felt sick to the core, my stomach twisted into knots and I noticed my eyes begin to water. When my breathing became sharp and discomfort was obvious to everyone, the judge looked to Phil:

"Is there a problem?"

"Wha- Yes, your honor. The images bring back nightmares and bring a large amount of discomfort to the defendant." Phil answered, trying to calm me down whilst talking by rubbing my back and shoulder.

"So..." the other attorney started, "The monster doesn't like seeing her own work?"

"I object!" Phil stood, hands slapping in the table.

The judge looked to the other attorney with distaste, "You're out of line, Grimmer!"

" My apologies, your honor." The attorney gave me a smirk as he noticed the tears streaming down my face. "As you can see from the photos, the defendant had clearly pounded this young boy's face in completely. The skull was completely shattered, and brain flatted to a pancake. I would like to ask the Jury to take note of such a gruesome scene. Would a normal person be able to do this with their bare hands? Upon further analysis, the victims neck had been broken, as well as wrists, forearms, and shoulders all shattered. Evidence suggests that her first move was to break both arms as so, break the neck, and even after the boy was already dead, proceeded to demolish his face."

The entire time the man spoke, I shook in my seat. Phil paid attention but still held me close to him to offer comfort.

"I would like to call a witness to the stand. Jeffery Daniels, would you please come up?" He called out, looking toward a young boy whose face was rather familiar. He was the boy who began to undress me in the alley. I felt my heart jump and fear spill into me when he threw me a nervous glance before taking the stand. They made him go through the whole truth speech before the boy sat.

"Please state your name and relation to the defendant," said the attorney, one hand leaning on the wooden bar of the witness stand while the other was tucked into his pocket.

"I'm Jeffery Daniels, and I go to school with Lilith. We have second period together." The boy answered nervously, chewing his lip for a short moment.

"Please state what happened on the date of September 29, 2008." The attorney continued, keeping his stance.

"Well I uh…" Jeffrey swallowed nervously, looking down at possibly sweaty palms, "Me and my three friends, including my friend Mark," He gestured at the crime scene photos, "were just walking home from school when Lilith just came out of nowhere and attacked him!" He rushed through his words as he spoke.

He was lying and it made me so infuriated. I jumped up from my seat and screamed out with tears running down my cheeks again, "You liar! You tried to rape me!" His eyes went wide and I could see the sudden panic within him spark.

The judge banged his gavel once again, " ! Get the defendant under control before I hold her for contempt of court!"

Phil listened and pulled me back down to my seat and told me to calm down. I could feel my own body heating up and my nerves spark as Jeffrey continued with his story and lies. He went on to talk about what he 'saw' me do and what I had looked like while doing it. The sad part is...I almost believe him about how I had looked: big black eyes that had virtually no light, and a sadistic smile on my face. I let out a small shudder at the thought, keeping my comments to myself.

The other two boys that were there at the scene coincidently couldn't make it to the court case today, so instead they called me back up to talk about what I remember happening to go against what Jeffrey had said. It was Phil's turn to question me.

"Can you please restate the entire event from how you remember it?" Phil asked, looking to me.

I nodded and began telling my truthful side of the story. I made sure to mention how Jeffrey was the first to remove any of my clothing as well. I told them about what I remembered and how I tried my hardest to heal the boy but just couldn't. I didn't fail to mention the stab wounds, either.

"Why is it that you can't recollect doing anything to the victim?" Phil asked.

I replied, "I don't know. A part of me wishes I could remember so that I can give you my side of that event transpiring, but another part of me is glad I don't remember. It's hard enough coping with the fact I have killed someone, let alone detailed images in my head."

"Why would you openly admit to killing someone when your main goal here is to prove your innocence?" Phil questioned again.

I took a deep breath, "I swore to tell nothing but the truth and so I did and still will. That, and I technically cannot lie at all. At least, not without it being obvious."

"Can you please explain what you mean by that?"

"My entire life, and also being told from the doctor I met at age five, which I must apologize for failing to mention this earlier, that I am cursed to not be able to lie. If I do lie, It's obvious, and the person whom I told the lie to automatically knows of my lie. Although, I am gifted with the ability to tell if someone else is lying, no matter what the circumstances."

"Right. Can you please explain how and why you tried to heal or 'take back' what had happened to the victim?"

"I felt awful and was in complete shock. I had been self practicing a new gift I had found within myself, which is the gift of healing. I focus my energy to my hands and-" I held up my hands that now were aglow until the light slowly faded away while the 'Oohs' and 'ahhs' continued, "-they begin to glow as I had just shown. My body heats to an extreme temperature during this as tests at S.H.I.E.L.D. have shown. But I don't want to kill anyone. I just want to help people, and it's...it's just such a struggle to do that when everyone views you as a monster because you've made a few mistakes that weren't in your control." I noticed myself tear up and I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand.

Phil had nodded and said "That is all I have to ask" before taking a seat. The other attorney stepped up to question me now.

"It's awful funny how suddenly you mention Jeffrey Daniels after he is a witness on the stand, when you hadn't mentioned him at all before." The attorney mocked with raised brows.

"That's because I didn't know his name before! And once he came up to the stand, I had recognized his face." I protested.

"But did he not state that you both have had a class together since the beginning of the school year?"

"Yes, but I don't make a habit of learning everyone's name, and we've never interacted with one another prior to the event. I only recognized him from that class until just today when he mentioned it."

"Next question: have you ever interacted with Mark Donovan prior to this event that might provoke you to attack him?"

I hear Phil yell an "I object!" but the Judge ignored it and responds "Overruled".

I then continue, "Not exactly… he and some of his friends would say rude things to me at lunch about me having powers or being a freak, or things of the nature. But as I have stated, I would never want to hurt anyone-"

The attorney interjected, "I find that hard to believe considering two years ago, your previous foster parent, Hugh Darren, fell out of your bedroom attic window while you remained inside, did he not?"

"Yes, but I didn't push him, he was drunk-"

He interjected yet again, "Exactly! There was a report found in S.H.I.E.L.D. records that a friend of mine got a hold of for me when I requested it! It stated that Hugh and your foster mother Marie both were abusive drunks! This is clearly a motive to take the initiative to cause an accidental death while one was drunk!" He then stormed closer and waved a finger in my face, "You killed Hugh to stop the abuse, just as you killed Mark to stop the bullying being done at school!" He yelled at me, hands fixed on the wooden railing that separated us.

I flung up from my seat and slammed my hands onto the railing while I exclaimed, "THAT'S NOT TRUE!" As I had slammed my hands, a wave of energy exploded from them, sending the attorney flying backwards and the jury into a rush as they, as well as everyone in the courtroom, were hit with it too. I began to feel dizzy and nauseated as I slowly sank down and fell once my knees gave out from beneath me. Phil had rushed to my side and hoisted me up. The last thing I heard before I fainted was him exclaiming "Get her some water!"

I had only just woke up in my bed back at S.H.I.E.L.D. when I began to write this. I've paused my writing a few times to hear Phil explain what's happened or going to happen. Apparently, that attorney received a concussion after my energy burst sent his head banging against the hard floors. The only reason I'm not being held in contempt of court is because Director Fury and Phil explained that bringing me back to S.H.I.E.L.D. would be a much safer environment for everyone.

I feel awful about this whole thing. I just want all this to end, but now I have to go back to court for a second run of the trial. I can't do this. I murdered someone and I can't take it back. It wasn't my fault...I'm not a monster…

But… that's the thing, isn't it? I've been telling myself a lie all this time and been convinced it's the truth. Ignoring my gut feeling. I _am _a monster. Because I've killed someone. And there is nothing that can change that.


	12. Journal Entry 12

October 15, 2008

I haven't been able to bring myself to write the past few days, only because the same words keep being said over in my head and I'm scared that if I wrote them down, they'd end up being true. So, I guess I just won't write anything about that. Phil got me to write today, because he could tell I was stressed and needed to.

Since the trial, I haven't been able to bring myself to sleep. Whether I'm too scared, or just too guilty, or both, I just can't. Phil joked about slipping a sleeping pill in my coffee, but he wouldn't do that because I think he understands. But for some odd reason, he hasn't been visiting me as much since the trial. Not even long enough to play a game of 21 or some poker with the guard outside my door like usual. I think something's wrong, and when I say that, I mean more wrong than usual. It's really bothering me, like maybe he's starting to believe the things I've been telling him from day one. I don't want him to, I really don't. I haven't asked him because I'm afraid of his answer. I don't want to know if it is really me.

I haven't even been able to write any poems, lately and that just irks me to the core. I just want to write but my head is so jumbled and messed up that everything I want to say is blurred together and nothing comes out. All I can actually do is sleep (which I can't bring myself to) because they won't even let me near a TV or a radio. So I don't even have any music. I literally stare at a wall or just lay in my bed and look up. I already said how Phil has been unusually distant. At this moment, I almost think prison would be a better place. Here, I can't even walk out of the room, and I only have a skylight to see outside. Maybe I'll try and talk to Phil about maybe letting me out for a bit, because I swear I'm going to go insane.

I remember the first day I started writing in this thing. I can't believe it's already been two years. I started writing because I was scared, I didn't want something to happen to me and for people to believe I died as a...well, not a good person. That's all I want. If I were to go, make this a book or just something because I just want people to know the truth. My side of the story, the part they don't put in the newspaper or on TV. Really, at this point, I could care less what happened to me. The only reason I've been eating the food they give me is because I'd rather not have a tube shoved down my throat.


	13. Journal Entry 13

October 27, 2008

I don't think I have ever felt so numb to everything. Emotions, especially. It almost scares me, and I completely understand Phil not being around much, at this point. I really do…

They keep sending me through tests. More and more tests, to monitor my brain activity and such. It's become a routine now to do this every other day. Apparently, the President requested it. He said that if I don't normalize, I will be held in custody. I suppose it isn't all that bad. I have my cards and my skylight. I have my journal… But I miss being hugged. Phil used to hug me every time he came to visit, but I won't let him now. I'm scared for him, what if he touches me and I lash out on him too? I guess that's another reason he isn't around so much; I keep pushing him away.

Phil just came in.

I didn't want to leave today's entry at that. I knew I should write more, but me and Phil talked for a long time and it's really late now. He's staying here tonight as my sleeping patterns are being monitored too and he wanted to be present. Of course, like always, he is enthused to watch me write the last bits of my journal entry. He always has me share what I wrote with him: he says it's a protocol he has to go through to make sure I'm not planning some escape, but he knows I wouldn't, so I think it's more of he just likes to know what's going on in my head so h can help me. He's really good like that.

Anyways, we talked about a lot of things. He helped me work out some issues of my own, and we discussed my dreams and my numbness lately. He said that if this progresses and stays like this, he might see about getting a actual therapist to come see me. I told him I'd rather have him talk to me tan someone I didn't know, and he understood. He said that he'll try to make a better effort to visit me, but things have been hectic in S.H.I.E.L.D. lately. I guess I wasn't really pushing him away after all.

I think I might try to sleep now as Phil is insisting to 'tuck' me into bed. I still haven't been sleeping well lately, but wit him here to monitor this test, I think I actually might get normal sleep.

The retrial is a couple days before Halloween. Not sure how well that will go, but I hope it goes better than the last time. This time, I'll be kept in a glass box, apparently.

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WARNING: iF YOU HAVENT READ THEM ALL, GO BACK! THEY ARE ALL EQUALLY IMPORTANT.


	14. Journal Entry 14

November 10, 2008

The second half of the trial was hard for me, emotionally and physically. Even though it happened yesterday, Phil told me I should still write down everything that happened. He said it's healthy that I keep journaling often.

So, the trial… yea, it wasn't fun. They had me better restrained this time, and a special guard on standby in case I go unstable again. I felt like a circus animal.

A lot of evidence that wasn't able to be shown yet was brought up this time. And, the other two boys showed up. Phil told me he would 'take care of it' when they didn't show the first time. It makes me wonder what he did to get them to come?

So most of the trial was simply reviewing what had already happened. The attorney guy that I hurt the last time refused to continue on this trial, so they sent in the District Attorney instead. And with my luck, it was another man. I was crossing my fingers it would be a woman who could better relate to me, but nope.

So I'll really just skip to the important parts, as the rest is really just boring and dull arguing with me on the stand. So it actually got to a point where Phil brought out a small TV on a stand and played a video. I don't know how he got it, but it was footage of my attack. I didn't even see any cameras around that area… But I'm going to try and quote him the best I can.

Phil had called one of the boys to the stand, Andy Hammel, to the stand. He had the same exact story as Jeffery.

"Well that's awful funny…" Phil had said with a sarcastic tone, one hand loosely hanging out of his pants pocket. "Because your friends Jeffery Daniels and Roger Moore said the exact same thing. Word for word, even." He looked towards the jury and then back at Andy who sat nervously in his seat.

"It's because it's true!" Andy defended harshly.

"Oh, I bet it is!" Phil continued with his sarcastic tone. "Your Honor, I would like to present a piece of evidence to the court." He looked up at the Judge with a stern, and calm face. I knew then, he had something vital, something that would change everything from then on out.

The judge nodded and gave Phil the OK before the Court Clerk wheeled out a TV and VCR while Phil produced a video cassette. He put the tape in the VCR and presented the screen to the court. "Here is actual footage of the attack itself. Now, if you look here…" he pointed to a girl on the screen, "there is Lilith. And if you continue watching, you'll notice four boys shove her into the alley. That is my first piece of proof that these boys are lying. Now, if you continue to watch, you'll see…" And he continued, on and on and on, until the gruesome video was over and the screen turned to static. He made a point in the video to point out Andy stabbing me, and Roger filming everything on his phone, and dumping said phone in the dumpster behind him. I couldn't bear to watch any of it, but I couldn't keep myself from listening.

"But we found Roger's phone, actually. In perfect condition, which made it incredibly easy to pull that footage from his camera phone, which I will now present as well." Phil took out the first tape and put in the second one. I again, couldn't bear to watch, yet was forced to listen.

When it was over, I took a glance at Andy who had tears in his eyes, but they weren't sad. They were fearful. Phil took note of that and came close to Andy once again. "Not so funny anymore, is it? So you all had roles, didn't you? You kept her in check, Jeffery-"

The District attorney stood, quickly. "Your Honor, is Lilith Lokidottir on trial, or is Andy Hammel?"

The judge gave Phil a look, and Phil understood and backed away. "No, Andy isn't on trial, but judging by this footage, this is nothing more than self defense from Lilith's end." He announced it, his voice booming and giving me chills. "In actuality, Andy Hammel and his friends should be the ones on trial! Not the rape victim!" He calmed himself and straightened his suit jacket. "The defense rests."

The District Attorney requested a short recess which was granted. Phil took me outside to relax until we were due back. I guess the people decided to change their mind.

The request was that I be sent to Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters if found 'not guilty'. If I'm found guilty, I have to remain in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s care until I have absolute control of my powers. When I do, I would be reexamined to see if I am safe to be out in the world amongst people again. They argued about how I'm not a mutant, but I am gifted and sending me there would better improve myself and allow me to safely practice my abilities among people who would not judge me as much. To me, the deal was very fair. I was alright with either outcome.

The jury was sent to make a decision, and after three hours and twelve minutes, the reached a verdict.

Not. Guilty.

They found me innocent, and at that realization, I tried to jump up and hug Phil-but I quickly remembered that I was cuffed and that was very impossible, so he just hugged me instead.

So, I get sent to the school in about three days. Phil brought me all of my old clothes today and said he'll help me pack tomorrow. I'm actually really excited for this. I get to meet people like me, now. But technically, they aren't, because I'm not a mutant… I guess I'm nervous about that.

I'll try to remember to keep writing while I'm there. Maybe this is the new start I need?

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**Hey guys! I want to thank the people who have sent in reviews, followed, and favorited this story! This means the world to me, and I really love you guys! Please share this story around, as I want it to become popular: the reasoning for that wish must be kept a secret for now (shhh) because I would rather not someone steal my ideas and make them their own. Thanks again, your reviews are very helpful! I will post the next entry once I find time, as I'm very busy. 3**


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